


Regrets, Regression and Roads not Taken

by Imperium



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, STONY Bingo 2018, hickmanvengers, post NA#3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:39:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15491160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imperium/pseuds/Imperium
Summary: Tony tries to cope after the Mindwipe. He spectacularly fails. Repeatedly.





	Regrets, Regression and Roads not Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enkiduu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/gifts), [Serinah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/gifts), [SilverInStars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverInStars/gifts).



Bright blue lights flickered in Tony's lab, rolling translucent figurines of one cherished team-mate after another. Thor with his bright red cape fluttering in a non-existent breeze, Wolverine's claws glinting in the sun. The models of Carol and Jess lay comfortably on the ground, laughing, perfectly happy and content with each other, even as holograms. They represented everything good about the world. Happiness, strength and hope. At least, Tony knew they would to Steve. The Avengers had always been quintessential to his existence. They gave him drive and purpose. Something to fight for, something to come home to. He couldn't think of a better distraction. 

He couldn't come up with a better lie. 

The armor around him seemed to stare at him accusingly, blaming him for what they’d been used for. He'd planned to be a hero when he’d put it on on all those years ago, idealistic and dreaming about saving the world. Now he'd crossed the realm of run-of-the-mill villains, and entered the prestigious territory of genocidal maniacs. He rubbed his hands together, the chill from the metal tables seeping into his skin. He had always kept his lab a few degrees short of comfortable - he’d never felt cold or disjointed though, not in this place - more home than the spacious towers and vast mansions.

Maybe he was going into some kind of delayed shock. Didn’t that happen, When people experienced terrible things?

When people _did_ terrible things?

Tony had no right to complain, he wasn't the one a few memories short of the biggest metaphorical knife to the back. Steve was probably tossing in his bed, 'Nightmares,' he'd say, if Tony asked. Tony would nod, let his eyes soften, and pretend that he was worried about Steve's nightmares more than he was worried about Steve remembering. 

He absently traced the photo of the Founders he always kept in his lab, Stephen Strange was undeniably a fine man, Tony didn't doubt his skills. But this was hardly the first time Tony had made Steve forget something on purpose. And this was definitely not something a handshake could solve. Not that Steve and Tony were even capable of handshakes these days. Their relationships tended to oscillate between sweet hugs with deeply emotional conversations and earth shattering fights. 

He stared blankly at the rolling hologram of Spider-Man spinning in front of him. Sometimes, he looked at his friends: and it would reaffirm him. This was what he was fighting for; who he’d do anything to protect. Then he’d blink and Steve’s betrayed face would be staring at him with a kind of revulsion Tony hadn’t ever seen on his face before..

It had never occurred to him that maybe they didn’t want his half-assed help. 

He dully scrolled through himself and Steve, blinking the holograms out of view, bringing forward a blank screen. He placed Reed’s notebooks and data, with meticulous care, on the table. 

He took a deep breath, cracked his knuckles, and got to work.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Tony stumbled into the kitchen, hands shaking almost imperceptibly within his pockets. He'd had one of those, 'almost there but not quite moments' of scientific discovery. Usually, these would invigorate him, and he'd be talking about it a mile a minute, gesticulating wildly to anyone who'd listen. Now, well, he’d doubted whether Superheros would be interested in all the different creative ways one could potentially blow up a planet.

Leaning by the stage, Tony shut his eyes, quietly counting backwards from 100. The tick-tick of the kitchen clock jarringly loud in the quiet room. 

He got interrupted at 68. Sandalwood and some of that aftershave Steve loved, flooding his senses. Tony commanded his tensed muscles to relax one after another. They knew now was not the time to be undisciplined. Certainly not time for them to look for an excuse to lean on Steve.

Tony looked up. Steve was smiling at him, one of his ‘golly geese, I adore you’ smiles. It usually made Tony feel warm inside, a tender feeling curling around him. Now, all Tony felt was intensely lonely. Not brutal enough for the Illuminati, certainly too brutal for the Avengers. Where did that leave him? He'd have gone to Steve, usually. Steve knew the feeling of being displaced better than anyone. And he would have, if he could have brought himself to look at Steve without doing something he knew he'd regret. Like getting drunk, constructing a world killer, telling Steve the truth. 

Kissing him. 

———————————————————————----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Duty called for Steve as well. The world may have been ending, but aliens could clearly not get their shit together. 

Steve, of course, in his typical Steve-ness, decided to fly off into space to fight them. Earlier, He had come close, a secretive smile on his lips, the familiar look of longing in his eyes as he looked at Tony, leaning forward temptingly, it had felt like a lead up to a perfect kiss. If the past Tony had known how much less he'd deserve Steve in the future than he already did, he'd have kissed him years ago. 

‘Be Safe,’ he told him, instead. Steve nodded, a little disappointed but mostly understanding - always the gentleman. It couldn’t be helped, really. 

He felt a chilling hatred for the part of him that felt an almost mind numbing swooping relief. Steve was gone. And Tony didn’t need to pretend to listen to a conscience he had silenced a long time ago. He could fight the war without Steve’s interference, without Steve hovering over his shoulder every other minute. The jet - a distant spec in the sky - eventually disappeared, not even a glint to be seen. 

Tony had wished a million times over that Steve would never remember, he had wished a million times over that he would. That Steve would shout at him. He wished Steve had hit him the face. 

He really wished he had kissed Steve before he left.

There had been a time, Tony would later recall absently, when he had almost been human. Maybe Steve had had the right of it. He'd readily carved himself into a monster in order to survive. 

Without anyone to tell him no, it was easy to call the monster God.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve came back, victorious, happy and proud of his team. He glowed and smiled and laughed; passion, heart and full of life. 

Tony could almost convince himself everything was as it had once been, rolling around the gym mats with Steve like overgrown puppies, laughing - their bodies slick with sweat. If Tony strained hard enough he could hear Jan's cheerful voice, Hank's quite muttering in his lab. 

In an almost paralyzing fit of nostalgia and mind numbing grief, Tony very nearly called himself Mr. Stark while in the suit. Steve sensed his slip and threw him a wide grin, a secret wink thrown in for good measure. Whatever was left of his heart withered up and died. Fundamentally, the Tony of the past and him had very few differences. That Tony would have died to save his friends. This Tony would die too, but he'd annihilate the enemy first. 

Tony made more and more excuses to himself for the things he wa doing, as he threw himself into building the Dyson Sphere. The semantics for his more powerful weapons swirling temptingly just at the edge of his vision. The urge to build them, to use them, almost as alluring as just giving in and taking a drink, the closer they got to another event. To Steve remembering. 

He'd take Steve’s hatred, as long as Steve was alive to hate him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Every charlatan has a charade, and every charade comes to an end. Tony Stark knew this better than most, he’d been there and lived through it. 

When Steve broke into his lab, eyes alight with fury, Tony only regretted he hadn't solved the problem first. He didn’t stop the taunt even as it came to his lips. 'Do you want to talk about it?' he asked with all the innocence and hurt pride of a five year old.

Steve broke his jaw. 

A better man would have explained himself to these people, these people who’d walked through the gates of hell with him. 

Tony wasn’t a better man.

He fled.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

San Francisco was an amazing city, light and life. Life had always interested him, fascinated him. People and stories - joy and happiness. And San Francisco was so beautiful,

The golden rays of the sun, as bright as _his_ hair, the blue of the ocean almost as powerful as _his_ eyes. 

Tony pushed the abstract thoughts away, burying himself in booze and all the people he could find. It wasn’t hard, they flocked him, The rich and poor, the desperate, the strong and the pitiable. All thrumming with nervous energy, and excitement, If they could have Tony Stark, even for just one night, it would have been worth it.Tony closed his eyes and luxuriated in their worship. 

He slept with a gray-eyed redhead, that night. He was nothing like Steve, hard where Steve would be soft, relentless where Steve would be tender. He had been good though. Tony almost regretted it when he kicked him out. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The red of the incursion sky flamed overhead. Steve stood in front of him, in all his American glory - wearing the armor Tony had so painstakingly designed for him. He'd have felt bitter if he had been capable of dredging up the required emotions for it. He did feel a weird sense of pride. And was that relief?

He’d always been so good at engineering his own destruction. 

The man he had pulled out of ice; the armor he had made for himself; probably the two most important things in his life; there was some kind of poetic irony written there, Tony was sure. If there was a Big Guy upstairs, he was probably giving Tony the final finger for all the pain he had caused. 

Tony stumbled forward, ignoring the monologue, the world was ending; everything was dying; and Tony should have really kissed Steve before he left. He placed his hand on the warm alive metal of Steve’s chest plate, a hand over his heart. Steve had always thrummed with life, warmth, compassion, even while wearing what was debatably the world's greatest killing machine.

Steve opened the visor staring at him, half understanding - mostly disappointed. Tony distantly wondered if he should apologize, perhaps make a glaring declaration of love. It seemed too tame, too petty; not after where they’d been, not after what they’d done. He kissed Steve instead, and Steve kissed him back. 

The world didn’t end.


End file.
